A belated confession

Inside the "Time Sequence" store, time seems to have been slowed down after the words "coexistence of time zones" were mentioned.

Lu Shixu stood frozen in place, his usually clear yet aloof eyes now reflecting Lin Zhiyi's figure, churning with shock, confusion, and a glimmer of uncertainty. His long-established, hardened protective shell had been shattered by those gentle yet strange words, creating a deep crack.

Lin Zhiyi didn't urge him or come any closer. She just stood there quietly, her gaze calm and firm, as if telling him that her words were not impulsive but a well-considered decision.

After a long time, so long that the last ray of daylight outside the window was swallowed by the night, only the warm yellow light of the lamp and the tireless ticking of the clock enveloped them.

Lu Shixu finally lowered his eyes very slowly, his gaze falling on the small, unreassembled gear in his hand. His slender fingers unconsciously caressed the cold metal edge, and his Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

"...Why?" His voice was even hoarser than before, with a cautious, almost broken quality. "Why...why me?"

He didn't look at her, as if the question was directed at himself, and also at the silence that filled the room.

Lin Zhiyi felt a slight pang in her heart from those words. She sensed the deep-seated self-doubt and self-denial that lay beneath them.

Instead of giving a vague answer like "because you're nice," she took two steps forward, sat down on the old wooden chair opposite the workbench, gently placed her hands on her knees, and began in a conversational, calm tone:

“When I was little, we had a very old mechanical alarm clock at home, which was left by my grandfather.” She began to tell her story in a soft voice, as if she were recounting a distant tale. “It was very inaccurate, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, and sometimes it would suddenly ring in the middle of the night with a piercing sound. My mother wanted to throw it away several times and replace it with a cheap electronic clock.”

Lu Shixu stopped stroking the gears. Although he didn't look up, Lin Zhiyi could sense that he was listening.

“But my dad wouldn’t allow it.” She paused, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “He said that although the clock is not accurate, every gear and every spring carries the craftsmanship and memories of my grandfather’s era. Its inaccuracy is its ‘temperament,’ and we need to adapt to it and understand it, rather than easily abandoning it.”

"Later, my dad found an experienced repairman to fix it. Even after it was fixed, it still wasn't 100% accurate, always running a minute or two slower each day. But from then on, our family got used to its rhythm. When we got up or ate, we would subconsciously look at it and then automatically add that 'lost' minute or two to our minds. It became a unique, living presence in our home."

She raised her eyes, her gaze falling on Lu Shixu's lowered profile, her voice becoming even softer: "Shixu, this world moves too fast, accurate to the millisecond. Everyone is like a wound-up toy, chasing the same standard time. It's exhausting, and also... illusory."

“But here with you, in these clocks that require patient ‘dialogue’ to awaken, I sense a different kind of reality. Your ‘time zone’ may be different from most people’s, it may ‘slack off’ or ‘go on strike’, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad. It’s just… a different rhythm, a reality that needs to be understood and accepted.”

Looking at his slightly trembling fingertips, she continued, "What I want is not a perfect clock that is always accurate and never breaks down. It is a clock that, even if it needs to stop and 'take a break' occasionally, still points to the truth in my heart every time the hands turn again. You, and these clocks of yours, remind me of that old alarm clock, remind me of... what a 'home' should be like—inclusive and warm."

Lin Zhiyi spoke slowly and sincerely. She didn't try to be sentimental; she simply laid out her feelings and thoughts honestly before him.

Lu Shixu kept her head down, but the tense lines of her shoulders gradually relaxed as she spoke. It was the exhaustion of suddenly relaxing after a long period of vigilance.

Silence returned, but this time it was no longer cold or suffocating; instead, it was like a silent exchange, filled with surging, unspoken emotions.

Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind, and slowly raised his head.

His eyes were slightly red, but his gaze no longer evaded; instead, it met Lin Zhiyi's eyes with a reckless and heavy honesty.

“I…I wasn’t born this way.” He began, his voice low and weary, as if stripped of all pretense. “It probably started in middle school. At first, I just tended to fall asleep in class, which led to me being punished by the teacher and mocked by my classmates. Then…then one time, during a PE class, I was running the 1,000 meters. I got so excited during the sprint that when I reached the finish line, I just…collapsed.”

He closed his eyes, as if he could still feel the gasps and bewilderment of his classmates around him.

“The diagnosis process was long and… embarrassing. I underwent all sorts of tests and was treated like a freak. When the doctor said ‘narcolepsy with cataplexy,’ my parents… they were speechless for a long time.” He forced a bitter smile. “They are very good to me and have always tried their best to take care of me, but I could see the worry and… disappointment in their eyes.”

“I’m used to it.” He repeated the sentence, but with a deeper pain than before. “I’m used to dealing with these ‘malfunctions’ alone, used to waking up from a sudden sleep alone, facing emptiness and confusion. I’m used to keeping my distance from anything that might trigger emotional fluctuations, because I don’t know which time a big laugh or a sad moment will cause my body to suddenly ‘go on strike’.”

His gaze drifted to the deep night outside the window, his voice as soft as a sigh: "I don't want you to see...me in such a wretched state. And I don't want...to become a burden to anyone."

This was the first time he had laid bare his deepest fears. Not out of weakness, but because the woman before him, who had said she would "coexist in the same time zone" with him, showed him... perhaps, he didn't have to be alone forever.

Lin Zhiyi listened quietly, without interrupting or offering comfort, but with focused and gentle eyes she accepted all his heavy past and self-disclosure.

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent again, with only the ticking of the clock continuing.

She slowly stood up, walked to the workbench, picked up the small gear he had been caressing for a long time, placed it in her palm, and handed it to him.

“You see,” she said softly, “even the smallest gear is an integral part of the entire movement. It may stop working temporarily due to wear, but as long as it is still in this ‘system,’ understood, and needed, it will always find a way to re-engage.”

She looked at him, her eyes clear and firm: "Lu Shixu, you have never been anyone's 'burden'. You are a very important part of my life's 'system' that I want to understand and incorporate into my life."

Lu Shixu looked at the tiny gear in her palm, then raised his eyes to meet the gentle yet resolute light in her eyes. The icy barrier in his heart crumbled at that moment, transforming into a bittersweet, warm current.

He reached out, not to take the gear, but gently, with a tentative and utmost respect, covered her hand that held the gear.

Palms touching, warmth transferred.

This time, he did not tremble.